liquid courage
by WhisperedSilvers
Summary: Tell me all the things you couldn't say when you were sober. Hitsugaya/Rukia AU


**title** : liquid courage

 **author** : whisperedsilvers

 **rating:** T

 **pairing:** Hitsugaya/Rukia

 **prompt:** drunk texting

 **summary: Tell me all the things you couldn't say when you were sober.**

* * *

She does not know what she is doing. But all she knows is that _he_ is on her mind, clouding her thoughts at two sixteen in the morning, in her grasp lay a bottle of whiskey—whiskey is _his_ favorite and her cellphone in the other. She couldn't remember if Ichigo is still in the room with her or if Orihime went home with him— and she couldn't remember if they brought her back to her room.

But judging from the death grip on the sleek bottle, they couldn't take away that bottle even if they had pliers—she probably passed out.

Rukia stares at the ceiling, the silvery beams of the moon washing the room with a dim blue backlight, the clock ticked to two seventeen and she feels so light.

It had been a bad breakup.

There was yelling—lots of yelling and screaming and crying. She remembered the sting of her tear ducts, how her head became so stuffy, the oxygen in her body was slowly decreasing and how much her heart hurt. She remembered how he grabbed her shoulders and _shook_ her. She remembered how he had tried to make her understand, but she was hurt and it hurt so _bad_ —that she didn't know _what_ she was saying and how bad it _hurt_ him.

But he left her.

He left _her._

He _chose_ to leave her.

Rukia thought Hitsugaya knew her. She thought that he knew her mind, her heart, and her _soul._ She didn't think that he would leave her, when she needed him the most. She thought that he knew her and that he knew her enough to fight with her and push himself in.

But he didn't.

He left her.

Rukia knew it was partly her fault for not telling him what the hell was happening in her life, but it was something she had to deal with. He had enough on his plate and she didn't want to make it an issue for him.

Her Nii-sama was dying.

Rukia began to tremble; she wipes the sides of her cheeks, wiping away the non-existent tear trails.

Sometimes, it _pained_ her to think of things like that—like her heart was cracking into shards of glass.

Leukemia is not a pretty disease. But her graceful and elegant Nii-sama took the disease in stride and with the utmost dignity—it made Rukia's soul waver for just the slightest moment in awe.

She would have to take control of his company and because this is her future—she began to spend less and less time with Hitsugaya. She could not tell him what is going in the Kuchiki household, it wasn't a matter of pride, no—it is a rule of the Kuchiki clan not to involve outsiders into the politics of the clan—even though Rukia did not follow such rules, it was just that she didn't know _how_ to tell him.

He thought that she was avoiding him, that she _wanted_ to break-up and that she was acting distant and cold on purpose—

Rukia took a swig of the whiskey, the warm liquid scalding the back of her throat.

It's been three weeks.

She has such nice friends. Such good friends she has. They took her to a bar last night—this morning. They did not want to see her moping anymore—she did not look like _their_ Rukia. Perhaps they thought she could move on and grab onto another body—she scoffed—the only person she wanted was _him._ She had smart friends too—thinking that she could drown her problems in alcohol.

Another swig.

It makes her feel better, her heart feels lighter and she is so fuzzy—but her thoughts are clouded of the man with snow-hair and warm teal orbs that she wanted to sink into.

Hitsugaya is the only person she can think of when she's not thinking.

The leather skirt rode uncomfortably high on her thighs, but she didn't care. She didn't care when Orihime decided to dress her up into what she thought was sexy—but Rukia felt lower than the dirt on the bottom of her high-heeled boot.

The hard wooden-floor was cool beneath her flushed cheek, half of the bottle of whiskey is empty, but it's still in her tight grip, her other hand had her cellphone.

Rukia's amethyst orbs squints, she has half of her battery left and she thinks of his intense aqua eyes and his strong arms.

She could still feel him kissing her, his lips press to her sweetly, how he would run his hands up her torso before pressing the protruding bones of his knuckles at the base of her spine—moving in the deep slow circles. She would purr and lean closer, her fingers hooking behind his ears, her pointer, middle and ring finger scraping his scalp deliberately—how fuzzy she would feel when his tongue caught hers.

Hitsugaya would pull away and kiss her hairline. Burning kisses down the side of her face, his fingers rubbing deep circles on the sensitive patches of skin down her back and she would breathe so heavy. His eyes would sear with adoration and commitment and she felt so _loved_ —

Rukia inhales sharply, eyes pricking with tears.

Two thirty-seven am and she grabs her phone and writes down the things she wishes she could say.

 _2:38 am:_ _I miss you._

 _2:40 am: I need you._

 _2:47 am: You make me happy._

 _2:50 am: I can't live without you._

 _2:57 am: I'm sorry._

 _3:01 am: I love you._

She isn't sure if that's what the messages actually read, the letters are blurry and her head is so fuzzy, but her heart aches with every message she sends.

Rukia is so tired. She does not want to drink anymore, because now she is light and airy. Like a feather drifting in the wind and she hopes she can sleep without the nightmares. It's been a long time since she can sleep—sleep peacefully.

She closes her eyes and it's silent.

It is three twenty-seven in the morning.

Rukia likes to think that she's asleep, but then she feels someone trying to take her bottle—her bottle of short-time happiness and stubbornly she opens her eyes and is ready to yell at the thief, but momentarily the words gets stuck in her throat.

Hitsugaya is besides her and she wonders if this is a dream.

"Toushiro?" Rukia questions, her eyes narrowing—her vision may be blurry, but she knew him.

"Rukia," Hitsugaya breathes, he lifts her head off the hard floor and places it on his lap. His lap is warm and soft and she sighs in contentment. "It's okay. I'm here."

She is scared that this isn't real, so she reaches up to brush his cheek and nearly wilts in relief, "You're here," She is crying again, she whispers almost accusingly, "You left me."

He is trembling and pulls her closer to his chest, "I know, I know." He presses a kiss to her forehead and her headache—that she didn't know she has—disappears, "I'm sorry."

Rukia tries to lift her head to face him and tell him _no,_ that _she_ is sorry—but her head feels like lead, so heavy that it's weighing her down. She is so tired and all she wants is sleep. Her eyes blink blearily and she looks so lost and happy.

"Shhh, I got you." Hitsugaya murmurs soothingly, he grasps her shoulders and lets her lay her head onto his shoulder and he wraps his arms around her, "I got you."

And suddenly, the world is right and she is okay.

* * *

 **The world needs more hitsuruki.**

 _Please Review!_


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